CAMPING AT LAKE CHELAN, WASHINGTON. 



C. C. MAKING. 



" You fellows go out and catch some fish, 

 and I will finish getting things in shape." 



George H. said this to Fred R. and me, 

 shortly after being landed by the little 

 steamer Stehekin, at one of the picturesque 

 camping places on the shores of Lake 

 Chelan. " All right," I said, and I dropped 

 camp drudgery to get my tackle in shape. 



" I think the chances are better for get- 

 ting something for supper if I take the gun 

 and follow up the gulch back of camp," said 

 Fred. So it was agreed that he should en- 

 deavor to get a shot at some grouse while 

 I tried my hand at landing a few trout. 



I had put my trolling line out and had 

 rowed, perhaps 10 rods from camp, when 

 there was a jerk on the line that nearly took 

 my rod overboard. I dropped my oars, 

 caught the rod, just as it was getting out of 

 reach, and immediately started to reel in 

 the line. Could the dead weight at the end 

 of my line be a trout, or was I snagged? In 

 my excitement I rose to my feet and, when 

 all but about 50 feet of line had been reeled 

 in, I could dimly see a long, shining body 

 at the end, and knew I had hooked one of 

 the beauties for which Lake Chelan is 

 famous. A few more turns of the reel and 

 the fish saw the cause of all its trouble. It 

 made a sudden rush toward the boat, as if 

 to have revenge; but quickly turned and 

 jumped at least 3 feet out of the water. A 

 rush to deep water and back to the surface 

 was so sudden I was unable to keep a tight 

 line. However, he was securely fast and 

 after nearly half an hour, during which the 

 performance was repeated several times, I 

 got in the fish close enough to place my fin- 

 ger in its gills, and, it was my prize. What 

 a beauty! A dolly varden (Salvalinus mal- 

 ma) that must have weighed over 8 pounds. 

 I had never caught a larger trout and was 

 quite satisfied to return to camp without 

 trying my luck again. 



George met me at the landing and greatly 

 admired the fish. We busied ourselves 

 about camp until Fred made his appearance. 

 We could see from his looks that his trip 

 had not been successful. " What luck? " 

 we asked. 



" Nothing," he replied. 



After looking around and seeing no fish 

 he seemed to feel better and proceeded to 

 tell us of his trip. " I followed up the gulch 

 nearly a mile," he said, " and had gotten 

 into what I thought good grouse country, 

 when, all at once I ran into the hottest yel- 

 low jackets' nest you ever saw. Gee whil- 

 lacum! but didn't I get out of there! In 

 my mad rush I ran right into the largest 

 covey of grouse I ever saw, but of course I 



was not hunting grouse just then. When 

 I got away from the hornets, I sat down on 

 a rock to recuperate and was getting about 

 rested when I turned my head slightly and 

 there, within 6 feet of me, was a good sized 

 rattler. Another mad rush, this time for 

 camp, where I knew the only snake remedy 

 for miles around was located, and here I 

 am." 



We both sympathized with him but told 

 him we thought the seeing of a snake did 

 not justify the opening of the remedy. 

 " Well, Fred, you have passed through 

 more than I have, but you were not so suc- 

 cessful," I said. " Come down to the boat." 



I took the fish from the boat and held it 

 up for his inspection. He did not say a 

 word, but a long drawn out whistle showed 

 his surprise. 



George prepared the evening meal, and 

 the many compliments he received, as we 

 ate, proved it was not his first experience 

 at cooking over a camp fire. 



At the beginning of the meal Fred re- 

 marked that enough had been cooked to 

 feed a regiment; but his opinion was altered 

 when he found our appetites were only sat- 

 isfied when the last morsel was eaten. 



As the evening wore on we lounged 

 about our roaring camp fire and laid plans 

 for the morrow. Then, as is usual under 

 such circumstances, we fell into a reminis- 

 cent mood and related adventures of differ- 

 ent kinds through which we had passed. 

 Some of them had been told before; but a 

 good story will bear repeating, especially 

 in the glow of a camp fire. There the rela- 

 tor is at his best and his listeners are appre- 

 ciative. 



Fred's story was one of these twice told 

 tales; but it had been some time since we 

 had heard it and, as the scene of his advent- 

 ure was not far distant from our camping 

 place, we were glad to hear it repeated. 



Fred had said nothing for several minutes 

 but, from the quantity of nicotine he was 

 taking into his system and the clouds of 

 smoke he was blowing into space, we knew 

 something was to follow. 



George even went so far as to bet with 

 himself that we were going to hear that 

 goat story again, and so it proved. 



" Well," said Fred, " I will tell you of my 

 experience in hunting mountain goats in 

 this vicinity. In the fall of '91, I had occa- 

 sion to visit Chelan Falls in the interest of 

 a Spokane wholesale house. The day I 

 arrived, a hunter brought in one of the 

 largest goat skins I had ever seen. 



He had killed the animal 2 days before. 

 I was, of course, much interested and the 



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